The Captain's Frozen Dream

by Georgie Lee

  * * *

  ‘Captain Essington, Captain Essington.’ Mrs Anderson’s high voice pulled Conrad from a restless sleep on the narrow guest-room bed. He rose, still dressed in his uniform shirt and breeches, and hurried to pull open the door. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Katie’s so restless, I can’t calm her. I fear she’s taken ill.’

  Conrad rushed down the hall, Mrs Anderson close behind him, her worry for Katie as sharp as his. Inside, a single candle burned on the bedside table, casting its light over Katie who lay tangled in the white sheets, her gold hair spread out on the pillow around her.

  Conrad felt her forehead, relieved to find it cool. The pressure of his touch calmed her and she settled against the mattress, though she continued to mumble words he couldn’t understand. It was then Conrad noticed the bottle on the table. ‘I’m sure it’s just the laudanum affecting her dreams.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to wake you with my worries.’ Mrs Anderson stood over him, drawing her borrowed wrap tighter around her. ‘But she’s all the family I have.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. Now rest, I’ll sit with her for a while.’

  Mrs Anderson returned to the small couch near the window. The rumpled pillows and blanket told Conrad she’d been sleeping there before she’d fetched him. Within a short time, she was breathing as steadily as Katie.

  The worry created by Mrs Anderson’s appearance eased as Conrad watched Katie’s full chest beneath her chemise rise and fall. He longed to climb into bed beside her, wrap his arms around her and hold her close. He didn’t, not wanting to disturb her from the much-needed rest. In time there would be many pleasurable nights between them until the anxiety and troubles of this one were forgotten.

  He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, ignoring the ridiculousness of his dogged determination with her. Any other man would have given up on such a stubborn woman, but he couldn’t. All would be well between them. In the stillness of the early morning he knew it, just as he’d known in the Arctic that if he led his men away from the sunken ship they’d find salvation. It was intuition, something he couldn’t explain, like the strange images he’d seen in the sky above the northern sea which made ships seem forty times larger than they really were on the horizon.

  Her willingness to stand before the Naturalist Society and defend herself against Lord Helton boded well for their future together and the challenges she’d face as his wife and a marchioness. However, it wasn’t the fortitude she’d exhibited tonight as much as the faith she’d placed in him which fed his belief in everything turning out all right. Deep down, she still believed in him as she had during their first spring together. If not, she never would have sought out Mr Winston and offered Conrad the one chance to free himself from his guilt and the ravages of the north.

  The winter came early.

  Conrad pulled the sheets up higher to Katie’s chin, waiting until he was sure she was sleeping deeply before he slipped from the room and made his way downstairs. The house was lit by the faint light of the coming dawn flooding in through the front windows of his study. It turned everything an ash grey, including the brown leather journal on top of his desk. Nightmares awaited him there, but so did the possibility of peace.

  Conrad lit a reed in the grate and set it to the candle perched on the edge of his desk, then sat down before the journal and opened the cover. His hand shook as he combed through his entries until he was forced to grip his thigh to keep it steady. He loathed going back over the details, but kept at it, certain the truth was there. While he read, he copied out passages on to a clean piece of parchment, teasing from the blistering entries the evidence he needed to prove Katie was right.

  * * *

  Hours passed and the sunlight in the room soon overwhelmed the candlelight, making the words easier to read.

  At last, he set down his pen and stretched his back which smarted from having been hunched for so long. The yellowed and water-stained journal stood in stark contrast to the crisp cream paper on the blotter beside it. So was there a noticeable difference in his penmanship. Where the copy was filled with the flourishes of a warm and somewhat steady hand, the letters in his journal were cramped, blurry, written in the misery of hunger, cold and privation.

  He picked up the list and read over every entry he’d made about the weather. It was a vague jumble of observations, but temptingly promising—the Inuit who’d stumbled upon them in the early days of their imprisonment and muttered something about the cold being fiercer than any year he remembered and the whaler captain who’d made a similar remark. Over a matter of hard months, the scattered and unconnected remarks about the weather had meant nothing. Taken together, they offered Conrad a chance to reclaim the peace stolen from him the moment he’d spied Aaron lying dead in the cold.

  The sound of Mr Moore clearing his throat drew Conrad’s attention to the door. ‘Mr Winston to see you, sir.’

  Mr Moore led the older man into the room and Conrad rose to greet him.

  ‘Mr Winston, thank you for coming on such short notice.’ Conrad had sent a note to the gentleman at sunrise, hoping he might offer more insight into Katie’s cryptic comments. Conrad could ask Katie himself, but he was reluctant to disturb her, especially when he was so agitated. They’d left too much unfinished and tense last night, he didn’t want to make things worse by pestering her, not when there were others who could answer his questions and set his mind at ease.

  ‘It was no trouble at all.’ Mr Winston took the offered chair by the fireplace and brushed some clinging snow off the leather folio he carried. ‘Though I’m surprised you wanted to see me.’

  Conrad sat down across from him. ‘I’d like to know what you discovered about the winter when I was trapped. Miss Vickers told me something about it last night, but was unable to provide more details.’

  ‘Yes, I heard what happened.’ He trilled his long fingers on the folio. ‘She’s doing well?’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘Good. What a dreadful business and so disgusting to think Mr Prevett was willing to assist a heinous man like Lord Helton. I’m always amazed by the lengths some will go to further their ambitions.’

  ‘And your research?’ Conrad prodded, turning the conversation back to the reason for Mr Winston’s visit.

  ‘Of course.’ Mr Winston handed Conrad the folio. ‘The year you set out, winter descended much earlier than even seasoned whaling captains expected. It’d been steadily arriving in August instead of September for the last four years, but it swept in with most quickness and severity the winter you and your ship were trapped. It’s all outlined in the paper I just gave you, the one I hope to publish next spring, perhaps with your support?’

  ‘Of course,’ Conrad mumbled, too focused on the charts to care if he was patronising Mr Winston’s work or a pedlar’s in Piccadilly. Everything Katie’s comments had suggested, and all he’d gleaned from his journal last night, was laid out here in neat numbers and solid proof.

  While Conrad read, Mr Winston described his findings, how the ice pack hadn’t broken up as much as in previous years. He’d found the information from the logs of any captain or harbour master who’d been willing to answer his enquiries and provide the information. All of them attested to the colder temperatures, the animals migrating sooner and winter coming nearly a month earlier than anyone, even Conrad, could have anticipated. ‘It wasn’t your decision to sail north which caused the problem. The year before you would have been able to press ahead and not encounter such fierce ice.’

  Conrad closed the folio and rose, tapping it against his hand as he paced the room. ‘No matter what decision I could have made, Gorgon would have become trapped.’

  ‘Yes. You had no way of knowing how brutal winter would be.’

  Conrad sagged against the edge of his desk, relief crashing through him as strong as he’d felt when he’d crested the
last snow bank to see the whaler anchored in the harbour. The guilt he’d carried like a scar from the Arctic began to fade in the face of Mr Winston’s research. It wasn’t Conrad’s fault Gorgon had become trapped, any more than Aaron’s decision to surrender to his desperation instead of continuing on was. He’d never forget having to leave Aaron behind, but for the first time in months his hand didn’t shake at the memory and the remorse didn’t tear at his soul.

  Mr Winston shifted forward to the edge of the chair. ‘I hope my work is of some benefit to you. Miss Vickers said it would be.’

  Conrad straightened. ‘Miss Vickers encouraged you to create this for me?’

  ‘She did. She came to me three days ago, asking for me to have it ready by last night, but it took much longer than I expected to compile my notes. It’s why I wasn’t in attendance. I was hurrying to finish, but you can see it’s done now.’

  Conrad scratched at the stubble on his chin, stunned into silence for the second time this morning. He’d told Katie of his guilt and she’d pursued an answer, a way to absolve him. She’d stood with him in his fight against his demons when a few days ago he’d accused her of abandoning him to face them alone. Then last night, she’d been willing to add her voice to Conrad’s in their condemnation of Lord Helton. She’d stood strong against Lord Helton’s accusations instead of fleeing, just as she’d found a way to help him even after he’d vowed to walk away from her for good.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Henry looked up from Mr Winston’s notes, his pipe dangling from his open and surprised mouth. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

  ‘Mr Winston’s research proves she was right.’

  ‘I always said you weren’t to blame, even in my report. It figures it would finally take a woman to make you believe me.’

  The optimism he’d once known at Heims Hall, and at the start of every previous expedition, filled him again.

  ‘I have some more interesting news, if you’re up for it?’ Henry handed the papers back.

  ‘This morning, I feel as if I could face anything.’ Conrad gripped the folio tight, amazed at the strength in his hand and the lack of pain in his joints. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t let down his crew. Though the trials they’d faced would always be with him, they wouldn’t command him as they had these last few months, or guide his decisions ever again.

  ‘Good, because you’ll need your stamina.’ Henry enjoyed a few puffs, drawing out his long pause before recovering his tongue. ‘Your uncle died last night. You’re the Marquis of Helton now.’

  Conrad stared at Henry. Mr Winston’s report had changed so much. This news altered his life even more. He’d seen the attack Lord Helton had suffered, but he’d thought little of it after they’d left, too focused on Katie to care what happened to the vicious old man. He peered through the door of the study into the sitting room across the entrance hall and at the portraits of his parents on the far wall. ‘It’s strange to think the man I’ve spent so many years hating and fighting, the one who wreaked so much damage on so many I love, is now gone.’

  ‘A few people at the club are saying it’s your fault he died, that you helped him along to the afterlife to gain the title.’ Henry smiled wryly around the white pipe stem. ‘If I didn’t know you so well, and how much you loathe this inheritance, I might believe the rumours, too.’

  Conrad shook his head at his friend’s joke, enjoying his humour despite the gravity of the charge. He didn’t give a fig for what people thought, but Lord Helton’s death complicated matters with Katie, and his future in the Navy. Even if he wanted to take the helm of the Melville Island expedition, Mr Barrow wasn’t likely to send a peer halfway around the world and risk him dying of fever, not when he could make use of his influence here. Initially, Conrad might have rejected his uncle’s suggestion to follow him into the House of Lords and employ the power of the Helton name for the benefit of the Discovery Service, but he had been coming round to seeing the potential in it.

  ‘So tell me, what will your first act as a newly minted peer be?’ Henry asked.

  Conrad tapped the edge of the desk. ‘To resign my commission.’

  The pipe nearly fell from Henry’s mouth before he took hold of the bowl. ‘So the old man has finally ended your career.’

  ‘It appears so, but it’s not entirely about me and what I want any more. It isn’t just the title I’ve inherited, but also the lands and people who depend on the estate.’ Including Katie. ‘I can’t imagine my uncle treated them well or fairly, but I will.’

  ‘As you have all the men who’ve ever served under your command,’ Henry offered with heartfelt commendation. ‘When will you tell Mr Barrow?’

  ‘At once, before he hears of it through the whisperings of his wife. I’ll advocate for your promotion to captain and command of the Melville Island expedition,’ Conrad offered, laying Mr Winston’s folio on his desk on top of the journal. ‘If you want it.’

  Henry lowered the pipe, facing his choice as Conrad had faced his. Then he stood up straight, standing before Conrad as he would aboard ship in front of the men. ‘I do. My time in the Arctic is over and now I must carry on, but Mr Barrow isn’t likely to promote me, not with so many other, better-connected men lobbying for commands.’

  ‘You’re the friend of a marquis now, a powerful and influential one. I doubt Mr Barrow will deny me such a request.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ Henry executed a deep bow somehow both mocking and reverential.

  ‘Don’t,’ Conrad commanded. ‘Not even in jest.’

  He wouldn’t have people bowing and scraping before him, or burn a swathe of respect borne from fear through society like his uncle had done.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Henry straightened, shooting Conrad a cocky but understanding smile.

  Conrad nodded his gratitude, grateful for his friend’s confidence and support, eager to do all he could to reward it. ‘I’ll fetch my coat and we’ll be off.’

  Conrad hurried upstairs, pausing at the door to his room. He listened, but all was quiet inside. He slowly turned the knob and peeked in.

  Mrs Anderson slept on the sofa, her borrowed cap rumpled over her face. The heavy curtains kept out the morning light, but in the glow of the fireplace, Conrad spied Katie in bed, curled on her side beneath the coverlet. The curls covering her shoulders and resting against her cheeks invited Conrad to step closer and brush his fingers through her hair. He could wake her and thank her for what she’d done, then tell her the news of Helton, but he didn’t. Sleep made her serene and he was loath to disturb her peace.

  He backed out of the room and quietly shut the door. He’d tell her all when he returned from the Admiralty. The power of his resignation from the Discovery Service could better mollify her concerns about his elevation to the peerage and hopefully smooth the way to her accepting him and the future he offered.

  Hurrying to the guest room, he slipped on his discarded coat and stepped up to the mirror. He fastened the brass buttons, then ran his hands over the dark-blue wool to smooth it before straightening the white lapels. He stared at his reflection, knowing this would be the last time he’d don his uniform.

  It seemed strange to be leaving the life of an explorer behind, especially after he’d fought so hard against his uncle’s influence to achieve so much, but it was the right decision. He’d achieved a great deal since the day Uncle Jack had first taken him aboard ship as a boy. It was time to forge another path through the halls of Parliament and Helton Manor and embrace the future laid out by both his heritage and his heart. A greater love than that of uncharted waters waited for him when he returned to Katie later today as both a civilian and a lord and he was ready to embrace it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Katie stood at the window overlooking the street, watching as Conrad and Mr Sefton passed below, deep in conversation. Over the noise
of the carriages, carts and hawkers, only a few words drifted up to her.

  ‘Mr Barrow won’t be pleased.’ Henry laughed.

  ‘I think we’ll be surprised at how he reacts to the news.’

  They disappeared inside the chaise and it rolled away, leaving tracks through the thin snow which had fallen overnight. Conrad hadn’t come to her this morning, but was already off to see Mr Barrow, reinforcing again exactly where she stood in his priorities.

  Katie rubbed her arm and the sharp bruise which stood out as a hard circle against the skin surrounding it. She detested Mr Barrow almost as much as the Marquis of Helton. The Second Secretary of the Admiralty held more influence over Conrad than Katie could ever hope to obtain. Whatever Conrad was going to discuss with his superior now, she was sure it would do her and her future with him no good. Yet for all the desperation she’d experienced in the darkest parts of last night, when the laudanum had made her toss and turn among the sheets, dreaming of Conrad, only to awake and find herself alone, one small comfort remained—America.

  ‘Don’t stand there in your chemise, you’ll catch your death,’ her aunt chided as she picked up the black dress lying over the footboard and held it up. ‘I’ll help you get dressed.’